


The Best Café On Dromund Kaas

by venndaai



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, malavai quinn - Freeform, pre kotfe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-12 02:48:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20133064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: Theron runs into an old friend during a mission.





	The Best Café On Dromund Kaas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).

Dromund Kaas wasn’t a bad place to visit, Theron Shan supposed, if you ignored the jungle full of ravenous man-eating monsters and the citadel full of ravenous man-shaped ones. And if you didn’t mind some rain. Personally he was more of a sand and sun kind of guy, at least in theory. He tried to think of the last time he’d actually gone on vacation, and drew a blank. He also drew his blaster, and pressed his back against the cool stone of a pillar. 

Yes, he thought to himself as he listened to the ringing sound of footsteps on the tiled floor, growing closer, there were certainly worse planets to be on. At least the air was breathable, and there were cantinas in Kaas City that did an okay cup of stimcaf, if you were willing to listen to Imperial propaganda broadcasts while you drank. A cup of stimcaf sounded very nice right about now. So did somewhere to sit down and take a few deep breaths. If he survived the next fifteen minutes, he was going to find somewhere to do that, he decided, ignoring the certain fact that even if he survived he was going to be spending a very unpleasant next few hours on the run in the very heart of the enemy state. You had to lie to yourself a lot, in this job. 

“My lord,” said the owner of one of the footsteps, “I have a question, if you will forgive the presumption.” A quiet voice, kind of fussy, with a prim Imperial accent, but it carried quite clearly in the blasted dramatic acoustics of the Sith Sanctum. Theron flicked the safety off on his blaster and watched the indicator light flick green. He was excruciatingly aware of the power pack’s low hum.

“Only if it’s not more fussing, Quinn,” a familiar, richly timbered voice said in reply, and Theron nearly dropped his blaster.

“In that case, I will remain silent.”

“Probably wise,” and Theron could hear the smile, could picture the tilted curve of that mouth, the exposed fangs. “Wait.” The first set of footsteps stopped, and then the second set did too, just a beat behind. “Something feels- odd.” 

Theron tilted his head back against the pillar and tried not to breathe. The blood in his ears seemed to pound far too loudly. _ Not this_, he thought desperately, _ not now_, but at the same time he couldn’t quite convince himself that the racing of his heart was entirely due to fear. 

The footsteps came closer. Theron decided he’d given up long ago on dignity, and tried to shuffle around to the other side of the pillar, in the vague childish hope that it would conceal him from the Sith’s view. But the Sith just stopped where he was and said, in that sharp tone that meant he was on the edge between amusement and rage and a breeze could tip him over, “Come on out, whoever you are.”

Theron had no desire to be yanked off his feet by the Force and pulled across the floor like a misbehaving puppy, so he sighed, letting out his held breath at last, and stepped out of the shadow of the pillar into the unnerving green light of the Sanctum. He cleared his throat. “Hello,” he said. His blaster felt awkward in his hands; he knew he didn’t want to holster it but he also didn’t want to wave it around too provocatively. He remembered the Sith wasn’t a fan of that kind of thing. 

“Theron,” the Sith said, and it was really incredible how all it took was that one short word to make Theron’s stomach do a flip-flop. He just sounded so fucking _ thrilled _. Like Theron had just surprised him in a bar with two all-expenses-paid tickets to, well, wherever people went on vacation that wasn’t the capital of the Sith Empire. Like absolutely nothing in the galaxy could have made him happier, in this moment, than unexpectedly finding an enemy agent skulking around his workplace. 

“Hi,” Theron said weakly.

“My lord, who are you speaking to?” the other voice enquired, and Theron heard more footsteps before a man in an Imperial Army uniform came into his field of vision. A lieutenant, from the stripes on his collar. Good looking in a pale, dark haired, intense kind of way. But then, everyone the Wrath worked with tended to be good looking. Theron was never sure whether to be flattered or annoyed by that. 

Malavai Quinn was the guy’s name. Theron had seen some blurry still images of him in the SIS files on the Wrath. Not that he’d spent an obsessive amount of time rereading those files. No more than ten hours, tops.

“Ah,” Quinn said. “Agent Shan.” His tone was polite, but not terribly pleased. 

Theron supposed it would be hypocritical to wish that there were less Imperials he’d never met who knew him by sight. “Lieutenant Quinn,” he said, hoping that at least he could spread the discomfort around. He looked back at the Emperor’s Wrath. In the strange light of the Sanctum, the Sith’s red skin glowed a deep purple. His inhuman eyes glittered. He was smiling widely, and Theron had been wrong; the picture he’d had in his head of that smile didn’t do the real thing any justice at all. 

“My lord,” Quinn said.

“I _ know _, Quinn,” the Wrath replied, the amused pleasure in his voice not dropping one notch. “What did I say about fussing?” Quinn sighed. The Wrath raised an eyebrow at Theron. “This will only take a moment,” he said, and he made a gesture with his perfectly manicured hand.

Theron didn’t have time to even start worrying before a giant invisible claw grabbed him by the waist and hauled him upwards with terrifying speed. The Sanctum was architecture designed for dramatic effect, and the ceiling had to be at least forty feet from the floor, but Theron covered the distance in seconds. He had a moment to try and brace himself before being smashed to slithereens, but to his surprise when he did hit the ceiling it only knocked the air out of his lungs and stomach. He coughed and wheezed quietly, and was about to start struggling when he heard the echoes of fast, determined footsteps, down below. 

“My lord,” Theron heard Quinn say, the words spiraling up from below, “may I urge a diplomatic approach?”

Brave man, Theron thought.

“You may not,” the Wrath said. “Hello, Adagnis. You’re looking lovely today.” 

“Lord Wrath,” the Sith who’d been chasing Theron said, and bowed deeply. “I’d love to trade pleasantries, but I have an urgent appointment.”

“Of course,” the Wrath said blandly. “Don’t let me hold you up.” 

The footsteps continued, but grew more distant. Theron’s thigh muscles started to cramp. He really wasn’t in a comfortable position, and he couldn’t seem to move at all. 

After what seemed like hours, the invisible claw lowered him to the ground, much more slowly and gently. The soles of his boots brushed the floor before gradually taking all of his weight. 

“That,” Theron said, “was not the most fun experience of my life.”

The Sith shrugged. “It seemed the quickest way to get you all to myself.” 

He looked perfectly composed. As always it was difficult to believe such an incredibly powerful force had been wielded by this small, elaborately adorned man. But Theron thought he saw a bead of sweat on the ridged brow. 

“Well,” Theron said, “you’ve got me. What are you planning on doing with me?” He hoped he sounded tough and unconcerned, not a mix of terrified and turned on. If he got out of this alive he was going to drink until he forgot any of it had happened. 

“I know a great cafe in the city,” the Wrath said. “Let’s go catch up.”

“Uh,” Theron said. “I don’t know if you’ve figured this part out yet, but I’m not the most popular person on this planet right now.”

“Oh, believe me,” the Sith said, “anyone who might recognize you is not likely to frequent this place.” 

Theron, who fancied he knew a bit more about where intelligence agents spent their off time than the Wrath did, thought about arguing with this. But the Wrath was smiling at him again, and it was making him dizzy, and since he had a good chance of being Force choked to death when the Wrath learned what he was doing on Dromund Kaas, he might as well enjoy a hopefully decent cup of stimcaf before the end arrived.

“Sure,” he said, “I wasn’t doing anything else with my evening.”

The cafe was a nerve-flaying ten minutes’ hovercar drive from the Sanctum, which Theron spent slunk down in his seat, hoping no one could see him.

They disembarked in a quieter corner of the city, that looked about as close to run-down as anywhere in this shiningly clean metropolis. Quinn parked the hovercar on the street. Theron noticed there weren’t any other hovercars parked on the streets and wondered if that was, like so many other things, a Sith privilege.

When they stepped into the cafe twenty heads immediately turned to look at them, and Theron tensed, reaching for his blaster again. But they were all looking at the Wrath. Theron couldn’t blame them. The Wrath might be a full head smaller than Theron but he was a lot shinier. 

“Ay, good to see you, pal,” someone said from a nearby table. 

“My lord Wrath,” a woman said from behind the counter. She had a broad grin on her face. She was an alien; not quite the first Theron had seen on this planet, but it was still a rare enough occurrence to make an impression. Her dark green lekku were draped casually over one shoulder. “Your presence honors us, as always.”

“I’ve brought a friend today, Esada,” the Sith said. “What would you recommend he try first?”

“Our summer special is Alderaanian iced tea,” she said, aiming her smile at Theron. He found himself wanting to smile back, though he also wanted to ask, _ This is SUMMER on this planet? _

“Two of those, then,” the Sith said, taking a seat at the counter, looking a bit like a small red bird perched on one of the tall stools. “And free drinks for everyone else, on my tab.” He patted the stool next to him, and raised his eyebrows at Theron. Theron sat down.

“Of course, my lord,” Esada replied. “Coming right up.”

The Wrath leaned forward. “Relax,” he said, in a low tone that made sweat break out on the back of Theron’s neck. “No Dark Council members are going to rush in here. You can enjoy yourself for a moment or two.”

Theron snorted. But the Sith was still looking at him, so he said, “I’ll try.”

The tea arrived. Definitely the fastest service Theron had ever gotten on any planet. He felt a bit bad about waiting until his companion had taken a long sip of the amber liquid before trying it himself. But only a bit.

“Well?” the Sith asked. “What do you think?”

This was what Theron had never quite been able to wrap his mind around. He knew, objectively, that probably the vast majority of the people who pushed the grinding gears of the death machine that was the Empire onwards just saw it as their day job, something to pay the bills, the only world that they’d ever known. But the Emperor’s Wrath was a member of the Dark Council, and not one of the weird ones that mostly kept to themselves like Nox, either. He’d led the Empire’s armies at Corellia and led the ransacking of Tython. He clearly cared a great deal about the Empire, and spent a large fraction of his time and energy building up something that Theron spent most of his tearing down. 

And yet he was sitting there across from Theron, waiting with what appeared to be anxiety to hear whether the stimcaf he’d bought for Theron met with sufficient approval. 

Theron wondered what he would have done, if their roles had been reversed, if he’d run into the Wrath being chased by Jedi on Coruscant. Run for his life, probably, and encouraged everyone around him to do the same. 

Tried for a shot in the back, if it was that or watch the second sacking of Coruscant in one century. For all the good that was likely to do. 

“It’s good,” Theron said. “Spicier than the version my usual place makes. I like it, though.”

“I’m glad,” the Sith said, still all sincerity, and then he leaned sideways against the counter. _ This is it, _ Theron thought, the meager inch of relaxation he’d accomplished evaporating. “So, how’s life been?”

“Uh,” Theron said. “Can’t complain.”

“Good,” the Sith said. “Good. It’s great to see you.”

“Yeah,” Theron said. “Look, I’m here to steal information from the Imperial Science Bureau.”

Damn. Who knew that iced tea and pleasant conversation would be more effective at extracting confessions than torture? Republic interrogators should take lessons from the Wrath. 

“Interesting,” the Wrath said. “What kind of information?”

“I don’t know,” Theron said. “Really, I don’t. I didn’t need to. I just needed to smuggle out a datacron from my contact in the Sanctum. But my cover got blown.” He shrugged, and took another sip of his tea. It really was quite good. “So. What are you planning on doing about that? 

“Well,” the Wrath said, “I suppose a quick seduction to the Dark Side is out of the question?”

“Yeah,” Theron said. “Unfortunately.” He hadn’t meant to say that. 

“And I can’t convince you that your time would be better spent helping me track down Vitiate?”

Theron shook his head. Sometimes he almost wished for the Emperor to return, so he’d have an excuse to work with the Wrath again, but saying that out loud wouldn’t help anyone.

“How about this,” the Wrath suggested. “I’ll help you get your datacron, if it’s so important. In exchange, you let me take a look at what’s on it. I’ll give it right back, and then I’ll take you to whichever neutral world you fancy.” He held out a glitteringly be-ringed hand. “Deal?”

Theron shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. But his contact’s cover had been blown too, and she was probably being tortured right now, with methods other than fancy tea. Darth Acina would soon know the identity of whatever information Theron was here to steal anyways. It couldn’t hurt to encourage inter-Council rivalry by letting the Wrath know too, right?

It was a flimsy justification, but Theron had a lot of experience with those, especially where the Wrath was concerned.

He’d blame it all on Dromund Kaas, later, Theron decided. The planet was all twisted up and inside out, and it made him make crazy decisions. “Deal,” he said, and took the Sith’s hand. His dark red skin was dry and harder than human skin and very smooth, like shaking hands with a very polished statue. But there was nothing statuesque about the sly grin, the purple tongue that flicked out to swirl over pierced lips. 

“It’s always a pleasure working with you, Agent,” the Sith said, and Theron dropped his hand hurriedly so he could gulp at his tea and try to think libido-killiing thoughts.

It was really, really good tea.

Dromund Kaas had a few good things to offer.


End file.
